


It's 'Wylan', not 'Master Van Eck', thank you very much

by turtles_to_the_max



Category: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jan Van Eck's A+ Parenting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:47:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtles_to_the_max/pseuds/turtles_to_the_max
Summary: Wylan couldn't just run away from his father's house without an accomplice to help him out.One serving maid, his only friend, might prove a useful ally.Starts a few months pre-Six of Crows.
Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Wylan Van Eck & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

_Just take the tray up. Walk up the stairs. Knock on the door. Curtsy. Ask for the young Master Van Eck. Hand the tray over. Curtsy again. Leave. You can do this._

I had my instructions, I knew where to go, and I wouldn't have to talk to anybody. I was just a serving girl in a new house. Nothing could happen.

_Don’t trip. Don’t stumble. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Nod, curtsy, move quickly, stay invisible. The master’s word is law._

But it had been such a long day. My stomach was rumbling, I was still a little nauseous from the long boat trip, my legs were trembling and the tray was heavy in my arms. I resisted the urge to just snatch a steaming roll off the tray and stuff it in my mouth.

_Obey the orders, stay quiet, keep a low profile, child. Servants are to be seen, not heard._

I had always been shy and I never talked much. Maybe that's why they sent me to go into service at a wealthy mercher's home, not sweeping factory floors or off working as a seamstress or - I shuddered - off to the brothel. In Kerch, they considered it a waste of money to spend anything on orphans who could make their own living, so every year they picked the oldest girls and boys and sent them off as indentured servants. I was one of the luckier ones - at least the house was relatively clean, and warm, and free of rats. I could be happy here.

_Yes, mistress. No, mistress. Of course, mistress. I'm on my way._

The woman in the kitchen set down one last plate on the tray, causing my arms to shudder in protest. "Now, up two flights of stairs, take the landing out of the servants' quarters, across the long hallway - it's the third door on your left. Got all that?"

"Yes, _mevrouw_ ," I murmured, a little ashamed of my accented Kerch. They told me my parents had been Kaelish, and though I had only the vaguest memories of them, their language was still imprinted on my tongue, causing me to stumble over my vowels and putting a strange whistle in my speech.

The woman bent down to face me, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her face was wide, red, and coarse, rough from hard work, though not unkind. "Now, are you alright, dear? Can you manage that? I know it’s a little heavy."

I bobbed my head quickly and slipped out of the steamy kitchen before she could continue. The stairs were narrow and dark, but blessedly cool. My legs shook with every step and my arms trembled so that I feared dropping the tray, and I had to awkwardly prop open the door with my foot to get through. _Take the landing out of the servants’ quarters._ I shifted the tray, took a deep breath, and slipped through the door -

\- and entered into a whole new world. Every surface gleamed, the banisters lined with gold, wide windows covered by thin silk curtains. I had never seen anything so grand, and I knew now why Grandmother Katja back at the orphanage had talked about how the Saints had separated the rich from the poor, and the classes weren't meant to intermingle. This bright, splendid world was not made for me, and I knew I couldn't make a mistake now; I was sure that the grand merchers would look like this as well - hair of gold and eyes of diamonds, robes gleaming with opulence -

A passing manservant caught sight of me gawking and laughed. "Ah, the new one. It sure is something, isn't it?"

I nodded mutely. Everything was so golden and bright and perfect. I was a pigeon among peacocks, a dirt stain on a silken cloth.

He snorted. "You'll get used to it eventually. The Van Ecks do love their luxury. Now - don't you have places to be? The merchers don't like tardiness."

I nodded once more and sped off, still unable to forget the brightness. The next set of stairs was shallower and easier on my legs, and far wider than I had known any stairs could be. Their surface was some smooth white material, cold under my thin shoes and waxed to a glossy sheen. 

_Up two flights of stairs. You're out of the servants' quarters, now across the long hallway_. The double door was a dark, ornately carved wood, with a polished brass doorknob. _It's the third on your left_. This hallway was a little darker and narrower, but with curtains of the richest fabric I had ever seen. _Knock, curtsy, tell them it's for the young Master Van Eck._ My whole body was shaking, my best ruffled apron was dark and dingy compared to this house. _Stay silent, be respectful, don't let your accent show. You can do this. It's just a simple task._

I took a deep breath, shifted the weight of my tray to my left arm and knocked quickly. 

For a minute, no one answered. Was it the wrong door? Had I made a mistake? Would they throw me out as quickly as they took me in? 

I was about to knock again when the door flew open, nearly tipping me off-balance. 

A bored-looking man held open the door for me, dark against the sunlight. "Yes?"

I bobbed a nervous curtsy, the best I could do while holding a tray that was getting heavier by the minute. "I - I was supposed to bring this -"

He sighed. "Ah. Yes. Food. Come in."

This wasn't part of the plan. I was just supposed to knock, give the tray to someone and leave again. 

“Well?”

There was nothing I could do. I stepped in cautiously, wincing when the man slammed the door behind me. “Through that doorway there. He’s probably working right now, so careful not to disturb him.”

"Yes, sir." I stepped into the next room.

No hair of spun gold. No diamonds for eyes. His clothes weren't even all that fancy, though of a good cut and an expensive-looking fabric. I had to admit, I was a little disappointed.

It was just a boy, fifteen or so, with curly red-gold hair and wide blue eyes. He was bent over a large book, fingers tracing the ink, brows furrowed in confusion, murmuring to himself. He seemed to be deep in concentration and I didn't want to bother him; instead, I just stood and watched him for a while. _Don't speak unless spoken to_.

So this was the young Master Van Eck. I wondered what words were on the page to bother him like that. Was this life of luxury a normal, everyday thing for him? They said his father owned a vast trading empire, that he had businesses all over the world; I had never even travelled outside of my city until two days ago. _So don't mess up, do as you’re told, whatever you do, don't anger the master, child._

I didn't know what to do. Was the proper procedure simply to stand there and watch? But my arms were slowly going numb, and I had no choice. If the boy would be angry at being disturbed, he would be angrier still if I dropped his lunch all over the floor. 

I coughed quietly. "Sir?"

He jumped and turned around. "Wha - yes? Father? I'm trying, I swear - " He spotted me. "Oh. Uh. Hi. Thanks." 

His voice was higher than I expected - I had imagined a deep, majestic, commanding tone from people who lived in places like these - and 'oh, uh, hi, thanks' weren't quite the first words I expected to hear from a noble's mouth. Evidently these people weren't quite as grand as the houses they lived in. Though I wasn't about to mention that to him.

The boy looked harder at me, brushing a strand of reddish hair out of his eyes. "Do I know you?"

"I - sorry, sir, I just arrived," I said, wondering if he could tell what I was thinking. Was I in trouble? "I'm the new one."

"Oh. Of course." He sighed and collapsed onto the chair, turning his attention back to the book. He sighed. "Would you happen to know how to diagram a sentence?"

"Uh - no, sir," I replied. These people were strange. "Um, can - can I put this down?"

"Shame," he muttered to himself. "And yes. Here - " He moved the book. "Maybe I should just spill the gravy all over their stupid sentence structures and be done with it."

I nodded, unsure of the proper procedure. I set the tray down and my arms sighed with relief; maybe it was wrong, but I couldn't help but shake the tension out of my arms.

And the boy noticed. "Are you okay?"

"Uh - yes," I muttered, colour flooding my cheeks. Stupid accent. Stupid me. Why couldn't I just carry the tray in silence? I was probably messing everything up. “The - the tray was just a little heavy -”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes opening with concern. “Do you want to sit down?"

The servants' handbook Miss Angelie had read to me had not mentioned what to do if a member of the house asked you to sit, but I doubted that sitting and chatting with the people you were supposed to be serving was part of a proper kitchen maid's life. "I - I shouldn't. It's okay. Thank you," I added, remembering my manners.

"Damn," he said, running a hand through his curls. "There goes my excuse not to study. Let me guess: you shouldn't be talking to me?"

"Uh - I'm not sure, sir. Probably not."

He sighed theatrically. "Alright, then. Hang on..."

He moved the dishes off the tray and handed it back to me. "And you don't have to call me _sir_. I'm just a mercher's kid, after all." He smiled.

"What should I call you, then?"

"Just Wylan works."

I nodded and took the tray, and started to leave the room.

I don't know what possessed me. I don't know how it even got out of my mouth. Maybe his human-ness had gotten to me, or maybe it was his smile or those innocent blue eyes.

But at the doorway, I stopped and turned around. "And good luck with your sentence diagramming, Just Wylan."

As I closed the door behind me, heart thumping, I could still hear him laughing quietly. 


	2. Chapter 2

I walked down the stairs, my heart still thudding dangerously, but a small smile still on my lips and euphoria starting to swell deep in my chest. I hadn't messed up. I had done my first task. I had made myself useful to the household. I had even made the boy laugh. The tray was light in my arms, my stomach had finally settled and the stairs were much easier now that I was going downhill.

Maybe this life could be a good one after all. I pushed open the door and stepped into the grimy kitchen.

When I entered, the same woman from earlier rushed over, her hands stained with flour and eyes narrowed at me, a few strands of coarse hair escaping her kerchief. "Where  _ were  _ you? We were looking all over! It's been fifteen minutes!" She put her hands on her hips. "What has gotten into you, child?"

"Oh," I whispered, the euphoria in me draining as quickly as it had swelled. The dim shadows and intense heat of the downstairs kitchen pressed down on me, quashing my bout of confidence from earlier and making my lips feel even clumsier than they had before. Stupid, stupid Kaelish accent. "I'm so sorry, ma'am - I guess I got lost..."

She sighed. "Right. I forgot you were new here. Well, hurry up next time, we need all hands on deck before teatime."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "What - what can I do?"

"Can you chop cabbage?"

_ No, ma'am, I fear I’m not qualified enough; I only wasted years of my life cutting up mountains of it for Grandmother Katja's soups _ ... "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." She pointed to a distant table where a tall, mousy-haired girl was already sitting. "Go over there. Claudia will show you what to do."

Okay, maybe life could be a little dreary. I sat down at the table and started chopping.

"You're the new girl, aren't you?" A high, slightly snide voice cut into my ear, and I turned to see the other girl looking at me. "The one from the orphanage?"

I nodded, unwilling to let her hear my accent, and kept on chopping. At least it was only cabbage and not onions.

"I'm Claudia," the girl said, bringing her knife down with a loud  _ thunk  _ on the cutting board. "I carried the trays up before you did. Now you've arrived, so I stay in the kitchen and help with the roasting. Looks like I'm moving up in the world, aren't I?" She laughed. 

I shrugged, unsure of what to say.

"You don't talk much, do you?" 

I shrugged again. Let her think I was mute or something. Less trouble for me.

"Unlike that boy. He'll blabber your ear off if you let him. That's why you were late, weren't you?"

"What... what boy?" I said, taken aback.

She looked at me like I was stupid. "Hello? The one you bring the meals for? The merchling. Wylan Van Eck. You know, curly hair, blue eyes, looks like his ultra-rich father in miniature? Probably knows more ways to fold a napkin than I know ways to scrub a banister. A little useless, but his daddy keeps us all fed, so..." 

I flushed. "You - you shouldn't talk like that!" 

"Why not?"

"You'll get us in trouble." So much for hiding my accent, but I didn't want to be kicked out on the first day I arrived.

She snorted. "Nobody listens, anyways, and if they did they wouldn't care. See - it's a whole different world out there. Rich folks don't know nothing about us poor folks and the poor folks don't know anything about the rich folks and we like it that way. They're strange creatures, the rich. Never know what they want." She shoved her cabbage into the giant bowl and grabbed the next head. "So long as you stay out of trouble, it doesn't matter."

“I - I guess…”

She shrugged. “So long as everybody knows their place, it’s fine. You seem nice enough. Just don’t go mingling with rich folk, that’s when trouble happens.”

I sat in silence, my hands slicing and chopping seemingly by themselves. The kitchen was small and dirty, but familiar - my world, where I fit. The boy had probably never touched a dirt speck in his life; he was probably dancing gavottes and tying his own silken cravats before I was taller than Miss Angelie's waist. What was I thinking, talking to him? Idiot. He shouldn't have talked to me. I shouldn't have talked back. I needed to be more careful next time. 

***

The tray wobbled ominously in my hands, threatening to spill its contents all over the smooth marble stairs. I shifted it carefully until the balance was right, then continued up the steps, silently cursing the long climb and the idiots who had designed this house so that the rooms were three floors up from the kitchen. I had quickly understood that this was the least popular job, which was why it was left to the lowest-ranking servants - which meant me. I had managed to dodge it yesterday and the day before, but today I couldn't escape Rieke's glare, and so the task was mine.

The last few days had passed in a blur of hard work and getting used to the new household. I learned how to scrub a floor until it shone, how to wax a banister, polish shoes, sharpen a kitchen knife. And, of course, I chopped mountains of cabbage - apparently some Ravkan officials were visiting who liked eating peasant fare, so soup and more soup it was. 

_ Third door on the left. _ I knocked and, when no one answered, nudged the door open with my toe and slipped inside. The first room was empty, but there was a strange windy melody coming from behind the doorway, soft and piercing all at once: music, but of a type I had never heard before. Grandmother Katja had an old guitar she sometimes plucked and sang old Kerch folk tunes to, but this was different: higher and clearer, more melodious and of a strange airy quality rather than the sound of strings.

I poked my head around the doorway. "Master Van Eck..."

My voice faded away when I saw the boy. He was sitting cross-legged on a chair, eyes closed, blowing into a strange silver tube lined with small bumps. It was beautiful and I assumed it was some sort of instrument, but a type I had never seen before. He looked genuinely peaceful, swaying slightly to the rhythm. For a minute I just stood and watched him, lost in the music, but then I came to my senses. I had a job to do.

I coughed quietly. "Uh - hello? Sir?"

His eyes flew open and the music stopped. "Oh. Hi again. Sorry, just a second..." He laid the thing on the desk next to him and stood up, stretching out each leg as he did and reaching for the tray. "Thanks."

I nodded uncertainly, setting it down on a table. Upstairs folk didn't normally thank their servants; we were supposed to be like furniture, silent and non-thinking, visible but unnoticed. 

Perhaps the boy had read my thoughts; he tilted his head to the side, looking closely at me, a faint smile still on his face. "You are allowed to talk, you know. "

I just stood there awkwardly for a minute or so, while everything Claudia had told me about the differences between the rich and the poor, the proper and the improper, flooded into my brain. I had already gotten in trouble for being late, and just being this close to him made me uncomfortable; he was so clearly part of this glorious upstairs world, and I was so clearly not. We were almost two different species. I should leave before I broke yet another boundary.

But then I glanced at the new instrument, and curiosity got the better of me. "What is that?"

He looked towards where I was pointing, at the slender silver tube from earlier. "What - a flute?"

"Um. Yes." What was I doing. What was I doing. What was I doing.

"Oh." His brows crinkled. "Well, um... it's a woodwind instrument, and if you blow across it it makes a sound..." He lifted it to his lips and demonstrated. A soft hooting noise came out. "And... well, you can make music with it." He smiled awkwardly. "Want to hear something?"

_ Absolutely, please, I would love to.  _ "I - I already heard you play before I came in. But thank you."

"Alright." He sighed. "I guess that makes you the only person to listen to me and not tell me to go work on scales or something instead of repertoire."

I had no idea what a repertoire was, and I didn't understand how a kitchen scale would help with playing the flute, but I nodded anyways. "Well, good luck, sir."

"Wylan."

I hesitated, then nodded. "Good luck... Wylan." I knew I shouldn't call him by his first name, but we were alone anyways. It didn’t really matter. And he had asked me to. "I should go."

He nodded and I stepped out of the room. As I closed the door behind me, I could hear the flute striking up again, lively and quick and cheerful.

Whatever he wanted with a kitchen scale - did he need to measure flour or something? - I couldn't see how it would be better than what he was doing now.

***

That night, I was sent to carry trays at a dinner party the master was holding. The room was packed full of loud men, laughing, arguing and chewing endless bundles of jurda. The room was filled with pipe smoke and brandy fumes making me lightheaded, and the distinct smell of men raised to money all their life. I slipped among the shifting masses with platters full of pieces of shrimp skewered on a stick, glasses of wine and endless trays laden with plates heavy with rich food; I was snatched at, yelled for and ordered around all evening. Many men lifted the food out of my hands without looking at me. Many more didn't even notice that it was a human carrying their plates and not a conveniently placed side table. A very select few gave me a sideways glance and a curt nod if the conversation was slowed at the time.

Not one of them said 'thank you'.

"That's rich folk for you," Claudia said in the kitchen later. "Ghezen blessed them with as much money as they could ever use and left all the manners behind."

I fell asleep that night dreaming of the sweet, airy music of silver flutes.


	3. Chapter 3

He wasn't playing the flute today, just poring over a book with large printed text, tracing the letters over and over again and muttering to himself. Not wanting to disturb him - he looked troubled and angry, his hand clenched into a fist on the paper - I set the tray down on a small table off to the side as quietly as I could.

It didn't work. It slipped from my hands and landed with a loud _thunk_ , the bowls clattering against each other. He jumped about a foot into the air, his head whipping around with a fearful look on his face.

"Sorry," I whispered, steadying the tray.

He shook his head, relaxing. "It's alright. Sorry, I thought you were... someone else..."

"Okay," I said, taking the dishes off the tray and sliding it under my arm, determined not to linger. "Well, er... bye..."

He sighed, his shoulders drooping a little. "Yeah. Bye."

I was halfway out the door when I heard him call "Wait!"

I turned around. "What is it?"

His face was red and he was looking at his feet. "I... I know this might seem weird, but... what's your name?"

"What's my name?"

He nodded, a little embarassed. "Yeah. I mean - you don't have to - but I just wanted to know." He shrugged awkwardly.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I - I don't really know... I guess I just wasn't sure what to call you. 'Girl' just wasn't cutting it, you know? You're the only one who calls me 'Wylan', and... I guess I just wanted to return the favour? I don't know. You're a person, too, not just some trained animal to order around." 

I bit my lip. "I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you." Even if talking to the boy wasn't stepping out of line, telling him my name most definitely was.

"I know," he said, shoulders slumping. "Just... you're the only person here who talks to me like a friend and not like someone to be scared of, or like a stupid child who hasn't learned his lessons." He shot a glance at the book on the table behind him. "I know it sounds weird, but... it's like you're the only person who sees me like I am. Like a real person." He shrugged self-consciously. "It sounds stupid, I know."

It was true. Over the last days we had been getting snatches of conversation when I was sent to deliver his meals, and I had started to look forwards to the visits; I would deliver the tray, we would talk for a bit and then I would leave him to his drawing or studying or whatever mercher's kids did in their spare time. It had been a strange highlight every day, a break from the normal routine, but I hadn't thought that he had noticed them like I did. Or enjoyed them.

"Alright," I said, ignoring Claudia's voice in my head yelling at me about how rich folk shouldn't mix with the poor for their own good. "Just... don't tell anyone else..."

"I promise," he said, with a quick nod.

I stepped closer to him, lowering my voice just in case. "My name's Anneke."

"Anneke," he repeated slowly, savouring each of the three syllables. I smiled at hearing my name from someone else's mouth, a rare treat after weeks of being just 'Girl'. He put out his hand. "Wylan Van Eck. Pleased to meet you." We shook; his fingers were soft and free of callouses, a mercher's hand, never exposed to harsh buckets of lye or the splintered wood of a water bucket's handle. 

I let go and picked up the tray again. "I should go. They'll be wondering where I am."

"Okay. Goodbye, Anneke," he said softly.

"Goodbye, Wylan," I replied, smiling despite myself.

***

The days passed. We talked some, though never if we were in earshot of anyone else, and I never told Claudia or anyone else about him. And though I didn't want to admit it, I slowly found myself looking forwards to lunchtime every day, when I could see him. One day, I walked in to find him at his desk, sketching at some sort of diagram.

"Anneke!" he said when he heard me approach, his eyes bright with excitement. "Everything is made out of tiny little balls!"

"I beg your pardon?"

He gestured towards the paper he was sketching on. "Everything! You, me, the chair - it's made of tiny little particles, called atoms. They're so small you could never see them, but they're there - they're tiny, and they're like hard little balls, and they can't be cut." He turned towards me, eyes shining. "And they make up _everything_ ! The same type of particles are in me as are in the tray, in everyone else, in even the stars! Of course, there are a few different kinds, but we're all made of the same stuff when you get small enough." He grinned. "Isn't it _amazing_?"

I laughed. "It is. Where do you get these ideas?"

"My science tutor showed me. Here, look at this..."

I thought about that later as I was doing my chores for the day: how rich and poor, no matter how they were born, were all made out of the same tiny little particles in the end. This world was certainly a strange one.

***

One day, the subject of languages came up - I spoke only Kerch while he spoke a whole host of them, and he was trying to teach me a few basic phrases. He gave me a short sentence in Kaelish which I repeated slowly, finding an odd comfort in the more familiar - though nonsensical - sounds under my tongue.

He looked surprised when I finished. "You said that almost like a native. Were your parents Kaelish or something?"

"They were," I said, looking down at my feet, "though I don't remember them. That's where I got my accent from."

"Your accent?"

"Yeah. It's why I don't like talking to strangers. It makes me sound stupid."

"I like your accent," he said. 

"Liar."

"I do! It's better than my great-uncle's stupid posh Old Kerch dialect, at least. He sounds like he bathes in a diamond bathtub every day and then gargles with saffron oil or something."

"Wait... you don't have a diamond bathtub?"

He snorted. "Ghezen, no. We're not _that_ rich."

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, I can check if you like, but unless it's turned from porcelain into diamond since I last bathed..."

"Porcelain? That's almost as bad."

"Well, what are your bathtubs made of?"

I shrugged. "They're just re-used wine barrels. You fill it with cold water and then you stand in it - and that reminds me, I should be scrubbing the floor by now. I should go."

"Oh. Well, goodbye, then," he said.

"Goodbye."

"Oh - and Anneke?" he said as I turned to leave.

"What?"

"I love your accent. Don't ever not talk just because of it."

***

"You're always late, coming back from delivering the trays," Claudia grumbled. "Are you lingering where you're not supposed to?"

"Of course I'm not," I said, trying to put on an insulted face like I was shocked she could propose such a thing. "The trays are just heavy, you know -"

"- and the merchling boy will talk your ear off as soon as you come near," Claudia finished. "And you can't slip away in time, is that it?"

"Yeah," I said, laughing a little. If only she knew. "He just can't shut up. And you don't want to offend them, you know?" It was technically true, even if I left out the bits about liking it that way. 

"I do know," Claudia said. "Boy, am I glad I don't have to do that job anymore. Just pretend you're desperately busy and are needed elsewhere. If there's anything the Kerch don't like, it's laziness."

"I fear I may be under suspicion of talking to you," I said to Wylan the next day. "It's possible we may have to cut this short."

"That's no problem," he replied. "I'll just tell them I keep knocking over my glass and you have to go clean it up before it causes a stain on the table."

"But there is no stain," I protested. 

"Exactly. Because you've been doing such a good job cleaning it up." He grinned.

I couldn't exactly argue with that logic, so I shrugged and said nothing.

"Or we'll invent some other excuse," he said, his tone growing a little sadder. "You're the only friend I have here. I won't let them take that away."

I nodded. As much as I didn't want it to happen, we had somehow become friends in a few short weeks, even though it could cost me my job if they found out. Seeing him was the highlight of my day, and I certainly cared more about him than I did Rieke, or Miss Angelie, or cynical Claudia. Maybe it was stupid and a waste of my time, but I looked forwards to seeing him more than any other part of my day.

"We'll find a way," I said eventually, after we had stood there with our thoughts for a good minute.

He laughed. "You? Admitting you actually want to be friends with me? Astounding."

I snorted and walked out. "Don't make me regret it. Goodbye, Wylan."

"Goodbye, Anneke." There was no mistaking the smile in his voice.

But Wylan was right. No matter what it might cost me, I did want to be his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things before we continue:
> 
> 1\. No, I'm not shipping Anneke and Wylan, they're just two lonely people who needed a friend. Anneke might have a bit of a crush on him, but that's as far it ever goes. Also, Wylan is definitely Gay™ and is going to go off and have a happy life with Jesper later. :)
> 
> 2\. You might notice that Wylan is a little bit wrong about what atoms actually are; the next stage, the plum-pudding model, wasn't proposed until 1897, and our current model of the atom wasn't finished until 1913 with Niels Bohr. Forgive him - he's still a little bit in the dark about what they're really like, but so was the rest of the world at the time.


	4. Chapter 4

"...and that should be good." Rieke set one more plate down on my long-suffering arms and straightened up. "He hasn't been eating as much lately. Oh - and I forgot." She put a small blue bottle with a white label on the tray. "The master ordered it for him yesterday."

I looked at it more closely; it was smooth and opaque, with fine black lettering on the label and a cork plugged into the top. "What is it?"

She shrugs. "All I know is you're to bring it to him today, and ensure that he drinks all of it. The master specifically said to not come back until it was all gone."

“But why -

“Because he said so. Orders are orders.”

"Yes, ma'am." I bobbed a curtsy and left.

When I entered Wylan's room, there was a strange man there standing next to him, tall and stern-looking. "I'll be back tomorrow, young man. Make sure you've filled it out until then."

Wylan swallowed and looked nervously up at the man. "Yes, sir."

The man clapped him a little too hard on the shoulder and shoved past me. As soon as he was gone, Wylan collapsed onto the desk, burying his face in his arms with a groan, trembling all over.

I approached him cautiously and put a hand on his shoulder. "Wylan?"

"Anneke," he said, lifting his head and giving me a weak smile. "Hi."

"Are - are you okay?"

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "Just stressed. I'm alright."

I lifted the small bottle off the tray and put it down next to him. "Rieke sent this. She said to make sure you drank it all."

As soon as he saw the bottle, he leapt back as if stung; his already-pale face turned so white I could see every small freckle on his cheeks, what was left of his smile vanishing instantly. "Oh. Oh no.”

"Do you know what it is?"

He nodded.

"Is it... is it safe to drink?"

He nodded again, his lips pressed together. "My - my father's trying to, um, prepare me for taking over his business. He's tried before, and I guess he wants to do it again..." His voice trailed off and he slumped over, putting his hands over his face. "It's complicated."

"And you need to drink this to help?"

"Apparently I do." He sighed. "That's why he brought my old... tutor back."

"Tutor? Why?"

"I'm turning sixteen in a month," he said, getting up and starting to pace. "I - I guess he wanted to make sure that I was ready. For business and everything."

"Business and everything," I repeated, not sure what to say.

His feet creaked agitatedly on the floorboards. "He's done this three times already. Once when I was seven. Once when I was ten. Once when I was fourteen. Now I guess he's starting it again..."

"Starting what? Is this a thing all mercher's kids do? Wylan -" he had stopped and was staring down at the ground, shoulders trembling - "are you sure you're alright?"

"The tonic is just the first step," he muttered. "Next it'll be the picture books. Then the begging. Then the threats. Then the tests. And if I fail..."

"Wylan - "

He said nothing for a while, standing stock-still, his back towards me, his clenched knuckles turning white. The clock on the wall had never been so loud.

"- are you okay?"

I counted one hundred and fifty-six ticks, standing there in our strange tableau, before he spoke.

"There's something wrong with me." It came out as barely a whisper, his back still turned. I did nothing, unsure of what to say.

Twenty-one ticks.

"What is it?" My voice was also hushed and low, even though there was no one listening. He didn't reply.

Seventy-one ticks.

Seventy-two.

Seventy-three.

Beneath us, a door slammed loudly and we both jumped, breaking the silence.

"I - I can't." There was a hint of a sob in his voice. "I'm sorry, Anneke. I can't. I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to. He can't make me."

“Make you -”

He didn't look at me as he took the bottle, uncorked it and poured it into the wastebasket.

"You should go," he said. "I'm sorry. Just - go. You - you shouldn't see me like this."

Instead, I stepped in front of him and wrapped my arms around him; he collapsed into me, and I could feel his whole body shaking as he hugged me back, his arms tight around my shoulders. I still didn't know what was going on, but he was pale and scared and so, so worried, and I had to protect him.

Eventually he pushed me away. "Thank you. You should go, they'll be waiting for you..."

I took the bottle and the untouched tray and left in silence.

***

When I saw him next, he was reciting phrases over and over to himself, staring down at an enormous book, his hands clenched into tight fists. "Wylan?"

"Anneke." His voice was flat, emotionless.

I handed over the tray and the bottle wordlessly. He slowly uncorked it and poured it into the trash.

"Stupid world," he said suddenly, his voice lashed with anger. "Anneke, does it sometimes just feel like you're drowning in people's stupid expectations and needs and plans for you and you're fighting them but they've pushed your head under and it's so dark and muddy you can't even scream?"

It was a rhetorical question, that I had no answer to.

He shoved the tray back towards me. "Here. I'm done. I'm done with everything."

I took it silently. He was back to muttering phrases again, his lips moving wordlessly.

"I hate my father," he said quietly.

I stood there waiting.

"I know I shouldn't. But I do. I hate him, Anneke. Him and all his stupid tonics and tutors and hopeless lessons. I hate him so much I could scream.”

There was nothing I could say.

“Wylan?”

“Hm?”

“Are you - is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head, looking close to tears.

I squeezed his shoulder once and left.

***

The bottle was black this time.

“Take it up,” Rieke said, “and make sure he drinks it. After that you can go to bed.”

It was late at night, a single candle flickering in the kitchen. It had been a day and a half since I saw him last; the previous day, Rieke had told me I was excused from bringing him the tray. “Saints know what they’re up to in there,” she had said, shaking her head.

Rieke yawned. “Speaking of going to bed, I should, too. Goodnight, Anneke.”

“Goodnight, ma’am.” 

When she left, I picked up a small tray from the stack and set the bottle down on it, picking up the candle as well. It would be dark, and I didn’t want to trip on the smooth slippery stairs.

There was something missing. On impulse, I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and filled it with the leftover hot chocolate still warm on the stove, adding it to the tray. That should be good.

The house was dark and cool, moonlight glimmering in small rectangles on the stairs. The stairs were smooth, the golden banister illuminating the shadows below. Wylan's hallway was darker than I had seen it before, the curtains drawn over the large windows.

When I knocked quietly, it was answered by the same tall man from earlier. “Ah. I was waiting for you. You have his tonic?” I held up the bottle, guiltily shifting the candle to hide the mug behind it. 

He gave me one curt nod. “Make sure he drinks it all.” He brushed past me, closing the door behind him.

I counted ten seconds under my breath while I waited for his footsteps to fade.

“Wylan?” I called quietly, once I was sure the man was gone.

"In here," a raspy voice answered.

I slipped through the doorway, closing it for the first time. "I - I brought you - " I held the bottle up.

That's when I saw him. He was slumped in the corner, the candle the only light except for the bright moon outside the window; his hands were over his face and he was shivering.

I ran and knelt next to him. "Wylan - is everything okay?"

He looked at me, and I could see the shadows under his eyes. There was a bruise forming on his cheek and forehead.

"No," he said hoarsely. 


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't have the words to cheer him up, so I sat down beside him and put my arm around him. He sighed deeply and leaned into me, burying his head in his arms.

"One second," I said, remembering. I got up and got the hot chocolate off the tray, slipping it into his hands. "For you."

He sniffed it tentatively and took a small sip, wrapping his hands around the mug. 

"Or," I said after a while, "there's also the tonic if you like, but..."

He gave a small laugh. "I'm good." I sat back down next to him; he leaned his head against my shoulder, giving my hand a squeeze. "And thank you."

We sat there for a while, his body warm against mine. 

"You told me," I began hesitantly, after several minutes had passed. "You told me, back when I first gave you the bottle... you said there was something wrong with you."

He nodded.

"What... what was it? If you don't mind."

He was silent for a while.

I shifted slightly, my legs growing sore on the cold hard floor, his back pressing against my arm up against the wall. 

The moonlight formed a pale rectangle on the carpet in front of us, divided into six sections by the window.

"Promise you'll never tell anyone." It was barely a whisper, his mouth brushing against my ear.

"I promise," I breathed back, pulling him closer against me.

"Anneke... " His voice choked up.

"Yes?"

He shuffled closer to me and leaned his head on mine, a small groan escaping him.

"Wylan?"

The wax dripped steadily down my candlestick in the corner, the small flame flickering slightly.

"...I can't read."

The moonlight shimmered on his curls, casting shadows on his face, catching the glisten of a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Oh," I said.

He nodded, his face contorted with shame.

"But Wylan - "

He turned away from me, his fists clenched.

"...I can't read either."

His head whipped around. "You can't?"

I smiled. "Nope."

"Like, the words get all mixed up for you, too? The letters shift around?" His voice held hope for the first time.

I shrugged. "No - just nobody ever taught me how, that's all."

He started laughing. "Well, would you look at us.”

I smiled, too. It was pretty funny when you saw it from the right angle.

“Two fools, sitting in the dark. Alone and friendless - "

"I'm your friend," I protested.

He waved me off. " - and neither of us can even read. What a world, Anneke. What a world."

I grinned despite myself. “Your father would love that, wouldn’t he.”

“My father,” he said with a sigh. “Yeah. He’s not very happy right now, if you couldn’t tell.”

"What - what did he do? What's in those bottles?"

"Some drug," he said with a twitch of his shoulder. "Guess he wants me to be all happy and mellow and submissive before he tries to force me into reading. He's brought so many tutors in. None of them make any difference. The words just don't stay put. He even tried to hypnotise me once..."

"Did it work?"

He snorted. "If it did, I wouldn't be sitting here right now, would I?"

"Yeah," I said slowly. "You said he's done this before?"

He shrugged. "It's not that bad. After a few months he tends to give up on me as a lost cause, and I can usually memorise what I need to before the tests so that he doesn't get suspicious."

I nodded, though I still couldn't quite picture what the tests would be like.

"But it's getting worse," he said, a note of urgency slipping into his voice. "I turn sixteen in two and a half weeks. That's when he wants me to start helping out with the business. He thinks this is his last chance to fix me." His voice was ragged now.

I grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. "Fix you?"

"He's going to throw a ball," he whispered, "and I'll have to read the Mercher's Creed or whatever it is in front of all of them. Apparently it's traditional for mercher's kids to do when they enter the world. It's ten pages long... I can't - I'm not sure if I can memorise it in that time..."

"And if you don't?" I breathed.

He swallowed. "Then... I don't know what happens. There's no telling what he'll do if I make a mistake, if I can't do it..." He choked up. "I'll - I'll be done for. I'm doomed, Anneke. Doomed. There's nothing I can do. He'll kill me if I can't do it - " His voice broke.

His arms were around my neck and he was sobbing into my shoulder, his shoulders shaking. "I'll be done for - oh, Anneke, what can I even do..."

I held him close, stroking his back as his breaths slowly became quieter and more even, eventually settling into a steady rhythm. I wanted to just hide him away from the world. Grab the stupid tonic and dump it over his father's head. Rip apart every piece of paper they had forced him to memorise. All of the above. The bruise on his cheek was dark and shiny, and I was ready to kill whoever had given it to him. So what if Wylan couldn't read? He was my only friend, smart and funny and brave and the best person I knew. 

I said none of this to him, just hugged him a little harder and hoped that he understood. 

We sat there for what felt like an eternity, until my legs could take it no more and I had to stretch them; I leaned forwards and his head lolled over onto my shoulder and I saw that his eyes were closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly. He had fallen asleep.

I lifted him gently, draping his arm over my shoulder. Together, we stumbled to a chair and I laid him down awkwardly, grabbing a nearby blanket and draping it over him. Hopefully he would remember how he had gotten there; he probably had a bed somewhere, but I didn't know where it was, or how I would get him onto it, and this would have to do.

His face was hollowed in the moonlight, a strand of his hair falling over his eyes. I leaned over to brush it out and his eyelids flickered. 

"Anneke?" His eyes blinked open.

"Shh," I breathed, tucking the blanket around him. "You're okay, Wylan. It's going to be okay."  His hand found mine, giving my fingertips a squeeze. 

"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep again. "For everything."

"Of course," I whispered, squeezing his hand back. I picked up the now-cold chocolate and the stubby candle; remembering, I quickly opened the tonic and poured it into the trash, then slipped out as quietly as I could.

In the doorway, I turned back and looked at him, a strange tenderness welling up in me. He had already fallen asleep again, the strand fallen back over his eyes and fluttering with every breath he took.

No matter what it took, I had to protect him. Whatever it cost, he was my best friend. I couldn't let anyone hurt him. I wouldn't.

I gave him one last look and closed the door behind me, stepping out into the darkened hallway. _I will never abandon you, Wylan. I swear it._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is both very long and not very good  
> my apologies

"You're to take Master Van Eck his tray today," Rieke said in a bored voice.

"I am?" I squeaked, trying to conceal the sudden surge of hope inside of me. I cleared my throat and tried again. "I mean - I have to start bringing them again?"

"For today."

"Alright." I almost smiled, then remembered that I wasn't supposed to be looking forwards to it. "Will I - will I keep bringing them from now?"

Rieke shrugged. "Probably. Now get on."

Once she had her back turned, I slumped over and sighed, relief flooding my entire body. For two weeks now - right after the night Wylan had told me he couldn't read - I hadn't been given any trays to take up for him. Two weeks of worry and dread and praying and loneliness. Whenever I questioned anybody who might know why, I only got vague murmurs of 'orders' and 'special visits' and 'not to be questioned'. I had been wound up with fear, wondering what had happened, what they were doing to him. And now it seemed they were done, or at least enough so that a humble kitchen maid might see the merchling again... what was it?

I shook myself. I had a job to do. I didn't welcome the back-breaking weight of the tray in my arms again, but it was oddly comforting.

He was at his usual place at the desk, but just staring off into space, tracing lines onto the smooth wood over and over again. There were no obvious changes on him, though I noticed that his face was more gaunt than usual and there were dark shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before. He didn't even turn his head when I walked in; whether it was because he was ignoring me or because he didn't hear me I didn't know.

As gently as I could, I set the tray down. "Wylan?"

He whipped around so fast I could barely see him move, immediately throwing his hands up and shrinking down in the chair. "Who - who - " His eyes were dark and haunted, his hair hanging limp around his frame. "What do you want?"

"Wylan, it's me," I said. "They - they said I could come take the tray up today..."

"Anneke?" He looked up, his voice disbelieving.

I gave a small wave.

He slowly relaxed, his hands coming down, staring at me like I was going to disappear any moment.

"Anneke," he whispered again. "Thank the Saints." He slumped over, burying his face in his hands. "It's been so long..."

"Are - are you okay? What happened? What did they do?"

"They did a lot of things," he muttered.

"Why didn't they let me bring the tray up before?"

He looked up and smiled then, a twisted, ironic half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The bruises hadn't healed yet."

"Oh."

He nodded.

"Wylan, I'm so sorry."

He lifted one shoulder. "It doesn't matter. My... my tutor's gone now. He said I was cured."

"Cured?"

"I stole his tests and spent the entire night memorising them."

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. 

"Oh!" he said suddenly, sitting up straighter and then wincing. "Speaking of memorising." He took out a thin book from a drawer in his desk. "Could - could you help me with this?"

"Help you with what?"

He waved the book at me. "My - my speech. For my birthday."

"I can't read either," I reminded him. At the orphanage, our chores were considered more important than our learning to read, and no one had ever showed me how.

"Not that," he said. He flipped it open and stared down at the paper. "Just... could you tell me if this looks natural?" He looked up and cleared his throat, staring off into space as if straining to remember some long-distant image. " _ The most important time in a mercher's life, is, without a doubt _ \- "

"You might want to be looking at the book you're supposed to be reading," I said gently.

"Right." He slapped a hand to his forehead. "I hope I can still remember the words that way." He held it at arm's length. " _ The most important time - _ "

"A bit closer," I said. 

He brought it up so that half his face was covered, squinting at the page like he was trying to make the ink form proper words. " _ The most important time - _ "

"Farther. Your arms should be about halfway up when your elbows are touching your hips," I said, demonstrating.

" _ The most important time _ \- "

"Move your head a little while you read." I closed my eyes and remembered everything Miss Angelie had done when she was reading us her fairy tales. "And look up every few sentences or so."

He exhaled loudly and let the book drop. "Alright. It's - it's just a lot, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, not sure if he was referring to the memorisation, the posture, his upcoming birthday reading, the past few weeks, or his life in general. Any and all of them.

"Three days," he said.

"You'll be okay," I told him. "You can do this."

He flipped through the thin book. At least ten long pages, each with small writing clustered closely together, words on both sides. "Anneke... I don't know if I can." There was despair in his voice.

"You will," I promised. "You'll be great. I know you will."

His hands gripped the pages so tightly that his fingers were turning white. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," I replied softly.

It was the first lie I had ever told him.

***

Three days left. We barely talked; he was studying again.

***

Two days. I overturned the bucket of soapy water all over the floor and nearly cut my finger off on a stubborn carrot.

***

One day. Even Claudia asked if I was doing alright. I told her I wasn't sleeping well. It was true.

***

"Happy birthday to you," I sang, "happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Wylan..."

He looked up from the book and grinned. "Hi."

"...happy birthday to you!" I set the tray down. "Happy sixteenth. You're officially old enough to chew jurda now!"

"Not that I want to," he said. "Did you know that it's technically my seventeenth birthday, since my first birthday the day I was born?"

"Happy being-sixteen-years-old," I amended.

"I guess that makes me an adult now," he said. "An adult, who does adult things. Every adult thing except read." A bitter tone had crept into his voice.

That's when I remembered. The ball his father was throwing. It was today.

"I have eight pages memorized," he said, "five consistently. I have the afternoon to memorise the rest, and if I don't..." His voice trailed off, the threat of his father hanging in the air between us. "I - I don't know what'll happen to me."

I didn't know what to say. I could reassure him, hollow words to fill the quiet in between us, but we'd both know they were just that: hollow. Empty. Meaningless.

"How long does a page take you to memorize?" I asked eventually.

He stared down at the ground. "Five hours, give or take. It gets harder with every page."

"Oh."

"Plus the endless reciting I do, to cement it. Plus the checking and double checking, plus hiding it away whenever anyone else comes in, plus the fact that I forget things over time and have to go back, plus that I get stage fright..." He groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm doomed, Anneke. Doomed."

There was nothing I could say. Plus, he needed the time to study.

"Good luck," I whispered. "I believe in you." It was the best I could do.

He nodded distractedly. When I turned to look back at him, he was already back to studying.

***

"Ain't this exciting," Claudia said drily. "Your very first ball! Shame we don't get to dance."

I nodded, my stomach tingling with nerves. We were in identical uniforms of ruffled aprons over deep red skirts and blouses, the nicest thing I had ever worn. Apparently the higher-ranking servants wore it all the time, the official Van Eck uniform; us lowly kitchen maids got to wear whatever we wanted as long as it was halfway decent. The party would be starting in five minutes, and my skinny arms had already begun to ache beneath the weight of the platters of champagne we were carrying.

"Go!" Rieke muttered, giving us both a little shove. "And remember: chin up, eyes down, don't speak, whatever you do, keep moving." Claudia and I nodded; on a signal, the doors opened and we stepped out into the grand ballroom.

What hit me first was the noise. Hundreds of deep-voiced men and laughing women, heels clicking, skirts swishing, an orchestra playing in the background. Swishing skirts, high top hats, necks and wrists dripping with diamonds, the sweet heady smell of perfume and the heat of hundreds of bodies in close proxmity; it was enough to make me weak in the knees, and I had to steady myself on the doorframe. A grand chandelier in the middle of the room cast swirling lights over the too-hot room, catching the sparkles on the ladies' dresses and the polished buttons on the men's suits, candles seemingly floating in midair, the Van Eck crest proudly displayed on the wall -

"Don't just stand there and gawk like a surprised chicken!" Claudia hissed, appearing next to me suddenly. "Go!"

I gave myself a little shake and wandered out into the crowd. Once the dancing started, we would be free to go.  _ Chin up, eyes down, don't talk _ . A few people snatched glasses off my tray and I forced myself to press further into the masses. The heat became steadily more intense the further towards the center I went.  _ Just keep moving _ . Despite myself i glanced around the crowd, pretending that I wasn't looking for someone.

After ten minutes I saw him: a flash of reddish-gold curls, combed down neatly, a little shorter than the rest of the crowd. I pressed my way forwards, dodging the shifting bodies around me - just as someone took the last glass of champagne from my plate.

Another servant, one I didn't recognise, caught my eye and jerked his head in the direction I had come from.  _ Back to the kitchen _ . I gave Wylan one last glance  _ \- close to the front of the stage, next to the big window on the right  _ \- before the servant's look became a glare and I hurried back for a refill.

Five minutes later I made my way back, panting - what if he had already vanished? - and scanning the people for him, my plate already a quarter empty again. I let my gaze wander over the general area -  _ there he is _ ! Still where he was five minutes ago, surrounded by a small circle of people. I saw him give a small short laugh and turn away. This was my chance.

As quickly as I could, I forced my way through the crowds, slipped up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. "Champagne, sir?"

He turned quickly, staring at me for a moment in confusion, before he recognized me. "Ah. Thank you kindly, ma'am, but I fear I'm a little preoccupied at the moment." He smiled and looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching before he turned to me again. "And hello. Lovely party, don't you think?" His cheeks were flushed from the heat. "Not that I've been enjoying it all that much..."

"How much did you finish?" I whispered, glancing over my shoulder for Claudia's wary eyes.

He bit his lip, his mock-smile falling. "Nine. Seven consistently, nine and a half if you're really willing to stretch the definition of 'know'. I'll have to try and read the last page on my own, maybe make up something if I have to."

"How- how are you right now? In terms of nervousness." I laid a hand on his shoulder.

"One to ten?" He shook his head. "Twelve." He took a trembling breath. "I don't know, Anneke, I can't do this, I'm going to mess up in front of all of them, and my father..."

"Your father?" I breathed.

"He'll kill me." It came out as more of a croak than a sentence. His lip was trembling. "I don't know, Anneke, I just don't know..."

I squeezed his arm and he looked at me, forcing a smile.

"We'll be okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "Everything will be okay." He looked down at the floor. "You should go. Don't get in trouble because of me."

I made sure no one was watching, then gave him a quick hug. He squeezed me back and then disappeared into the crowds, a fake smile plastered back on his face.

My plate was empty again. I scanned the heads once more, then turned and went for more champagne, praying to whatever god would hear me that he would make it through.

"...and now," the speaker from atop the podium announced, "we take a few minutes to remember why we are here tonight. We have gathered today to welcome a new member into our midst, passing down the great legacy of trade and honest business that has made our country great, and will continue to do so for generations upon generations - that is, if Ghezen proves willing." A smattering of polite laughter rippled through the audience; the speaker waited for it to die down before continuing, "And tonight, we have come to honor, welcome - and celebrate his birthday, of course..." a light turned on on the stage, highlighting an empty spot on the stage "...Wylan Van Eck!"

I leaned out a little from my dark corner, craning to catch a view as the audience cheered politely. The dancing was over, and now the men and women stood in rough rows, all looking towards the stage. Technically, we weren't needed anymore - we would be cleaning up in the morning - but no matter what went over, I needed to see what happened.

Wylan walked on slowly, dragging his feet and followed by a man a head or so taller than him, his hair thinning on top but with a decided resemblance to Wylan.  _ Jan Van Eck _ , I realised. He had Wylan's wide blue eyes but with none of the laughter in them. He took his place behind him, and a stab of pain went through my heart as I realised. Wylan would have to read - or pretend to read - with not only hundreds of people in front of him but his father right behind him, looking over his shoulder for mistakes. Yet another layer of torture for him. 

I crossed my fingers as hard as I could, looking towards him and begging silently for him to know that I was watching and cheering for him.  _ Good luck, Wylan. Whatever happens, I'll be there for you. _

He took a deep breath, pale beneath the spotlight.

"The Merchers' Creed," he began quietly, his voice trembling almost as hard as he was. 

"Speak up, boy!" a gray-haired woman called from the front of the audience. "Ghezen's got to hear you from all the way down there!"

The audience chuckled, and Wylan put on a sickly grin like he was enjoying it, too. He cleared his throat and gave his father a nervous glance.

"The Mercher's Creed," he repeated in a louder voice. He opened the book, gripping it so hard the pages looked like they were about to tear. " _ The most important time in a mercher's life is, without a doubt... _ "

I stood tensed at the sidelines, drowning him out after the first few sentences and watching only his face and the state of the audience. He was going fairly steadily, and I could see his father behind him start to smile in disbelief and pride. Maybe it had worked. Maybe his son had learned to read after all. Slowly, Wylan became more confident, reciting faster and more easily, and I could see him relax a little. Maybe - just maybe - he might pull this off after all.

Then, about five minutes in, he faltered, just standing there tongue-tied. He seemed to realise where he was, all the people around him, and I saw him whiten a little, stumbling backwards a step or two. A few sympathetic murmurs went through the audience.  _ Come on, you can do this, don't give up, I believe in you, keep going, remember where you are...  _ My stomach, starting to relax a little, immediately twisted itself back up into knots.  _ I trust you, Wylan, please, I know you can do this, just say something... _

His father gave a hearty chuckle. "Ah, nerves. Brought even the finest of men to their knees once or twice." He smiled broadly, but not before flashing Wylan a brief threatening look. "Come on, lad. Never too late to start again".

Meanwhile, Wylan was squinting out into the sea of faces, muttering words silently under his breath.  _ You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, just don't give up...  _ My fingers were twisted so hard together the tips were turning numb.

His face lit up and he gave the audience a strained smile. "Yes, the one true option out of all..."

_ Thank the Saints thank the Saints thank the Saints.  _ He was talking again. I could finally breathe.

Three more minutes passed with no further incident; he faltered once or twice but always kept going. We were more than halfway through the book already.  _ Yes. Keep going. I believe in you. You're doing great _ . He turned another page; there was a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead but he looked to be doing okay.

And then suddenly, he slowed down. His speech thickened and he stumbled over his words, talking haltingly and stopping every few sentences to take a break and squint out over the audience, straining to remember.  _ Come on, Wylan, you can do this, don’t give up now… _

He kept pushing on, but he was obviously struggling. “...and to that… it must be said… it must be said -” He paused and took a deep breath, glancing down at the book. There were two pages left. Everyone was staring at him now - most of all his father, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

In desperation, he lifted the book to his face, seeking out landmarks in the ever-moving letters. "It must be said, that... um..." His eyes squinted in concentration again. 

His father peered suspiciously over his shoulder, looking at the page he was on. 

"What's the matter, boy," the same gray-haired lady from earlier squawked, "forgot how to read?"

Wylan flushed brick red, staring wildly out into the audience. "I - I - "

A few people started to grumble and snicker to themselves.  He stood as if transfixed, flipping in between two pages wildly.

After an agonizing mintue, we heard a small cough from behind Wylan. "Excuse me."

Heads swivelled towards the source of the voice, a few disdainful laughs breaking the silence. Behind Wylan, a shadow stirred.

Jan Van Eck stepped forwards calmly. "Hand me that book, would you?"

Wylan jumped. "Wha- "

His father took a deep breath. "It pains me to do this. But some things must be done. Give me the book, _son_."

Trembling all over and with a look of terror on his face, Wylan slowly held out the book, fingers marking his spot.

His father took it and held it open, scanning it briefly. He looked up and at his son, his expression inscrutable; it looked as if two forces were struggling for control inside of him. A vein throbbed in his outwardly-calm forehead.

Eventually, he seemed to have come to a decision. He took a deep breath, stepping out into the spotlight and facing his son. I could see Wylan cowering a little as Jan Van Eck loomed over him. Wylan took a step backwards; his father advanced.

"Boy," Van Eck said quietly, the audience dead silent and straining to hear, "you are two pages behind where you were holding the book."

As I watched, Wylan's face turned from fear to confusion to disbelief to shock to a mask of absolute terror. "Father - "

He snapped the book shut, taking another step forwards.  "An impressive feat of memorisation," Van Eck said, his lip curling. "But not quite enough, as one can see."

"Father," Wylan whispered, shaking all over. "Father, please..."

Van Eck put his hands behind his back and turned to face the audience. "Well, gentlemen, there you have it."

A ripple of confusion went through the watching crowd.

"I am pleased to announce..."

_ No. You can't do this. _

_ " _ Everyone, my son. Wylan Van Eck, pride of my household and my supposed heir." His tone was light and ironic, concealing a merciless fury underneath.

_ He's your son. You're supposed to be his father. Show mercy, just this once, please... _

"Gentlemen..."

_Please. He's done nothing. Let him be._

"He cannot read."

"Father," Wylan whimpered, "no..."

"And," Van Eck continued over the noisy crowd, "I would like to use this - most happy - of occasions to announce that my wife is pregnant."

They went a little quieter, though still whispering excitedly to each other.

"She is pregnant," he announced slowly, "with my only son." He paused to let the meaning of the words sink in.

 _He couldn't he wouldn't he couldn't he wouldn't oh Wylan I'm so so sorry._ My heart slowly broke for him as I realised what his father was implying.

"Thank you."

They burst out talking again. Wylan, staring at his father with horror, took another step backwards.

Then something seemed to break inside of him. Giving a small scream, he broke away and ran offstage, through a small door and slamming it behind him. His footsteps echoed through the packed room for a few seconds, then faded.

Slowly, deliberately, Van Eck walked over to the same door and went through it himself, closing it behind him with an ominous thud.


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment I stood frozen, listening as the crowd started to murmur to themselves; then my brain caught up with my body and I snapped out of it. 

I shoved my way through the people as quickly as I could, not caring who was watching. As soon as I got to the door I broke into a run, turning off into the dark. There was a corridor leading off somewhere, I knew, leading somewhere near where they would be. I grabbed what I hoped was the right passage, sprinting for all I was worth. "WYLAN!"

I had to get to him before his father could hurt him. Somewhere, I heard a far-off cry; I took the next corridor towards it, stubbing my toe on the dark doorframe. The air was cool on my face, a welcome relief. "WYLAN!"

The shadows blurred as I ran, slamming a series of doors behind me. "WYLAN!" I could wake everyone in the house up for all I cared; I had to help him.

There was another low stifled cry, closer this time. I paused, my heart thumping frantically, to locate it: off somewhere to the left and a bit in behind me. I had overshot. I started jogging back, taking the first corridor I found.

There. Voices, one high and frightened, one low and rumbling, coming from a door at the very end of the passage.

It had to be them. I took off running again. "WYL-"

A hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my yell. "Are you _crazy_?" 

I froze.

"Wha- " I struggled for a few seconds before giving up and turning around. It was a small figure, but their grip was iron; as soon as I twisted the hand off my mouth they grabbed me and pinned my arms behind my back. "Let - me - go!"

"Have you lost all your brains?" It was a female voice, high and bossy and with a note of fear in it, too.

And suddenly, I recognised the source. "Claudia?"

"Yes!" she hissed, using my state of shock to pin me even tighter. "What the hell are you doing? You'll wake up the entire house!"

Behind me, Wylan gave another stifled cry, and I flinched. I had to get to him. I was wasting time.

"Claudia," I muttered through gritted teeth, still struggling against her, "I don't have time to explain all this, but you have - to - let - me - go. It's urgent."

"No!" she hissed, clamping me firmly in place. "Now, I don't know what's going on, but - "

Another cry, louder and more piercing. 

"Please!” I twisted in her arms; she didn’t let go. “I - have - to - help - "

"Help?" She looked at me, tilting her head to one side. "Oh, Anneke." She shook her head sympathetically. "You talked to him, didn't you?"

"He was my only friend," I confessed, tears welling in my eyes. "And now he's - he's -"

"I'm your friend, you dolt!" She put an arm around my shoulders: whether to comfort me or restrain me, I didn't know. "And listen - no, listen," she insisted, as I fought even harder. "I've been here longer than you have, and I can tell you one thing: you can't interfere. No matter what you think you can do, _you're going to make it worse for him_ if you intervene. Do you understand?"

"But he - I have to - get to him- "

"You think that," she snapped. "But - but some things can't be helped, Anneke, do you understand? It - you can't do anything - " There were tears in her eyes. "Sometimes, you - you just have to let go, live to see another day. I know you want to charge in there and save your poor illiterate prince - "

Illiterate? "Wha - how did you know - he couldn't - he never told - "

"I was watching, too," she said, ignoring my state of shock. "And I saw you in your little hiding place. You're lucky you didn't get caught - "

"I don't care if I get caught! I have to help - "

" _You can't help!_ " she almost bellowed. "Just - just stay there, live to help him another day, because he'll need you after this, who's going to help him through this without you, treat his bruises, dry his tears, bring him midnight cups of hot chocolate - "

"You knew about that?"

She waved me off. "I know a lot more than you think I do! You have to listen! You can't help him now, there's nothing you can do, you can walk in there right now and fight his father off him and get taken away in minutes by one of his guards, get yourself arrested and get Wylan in trouble as well. Or you can wait here for a few minutes, be there for him afterwards and _help him_ , really help him! He needs you, Anneke! Because I can't do it."

There was a loud _crash,_ cutting off whatever she was about to say next. We both flinched; Claudia grabbed me and dragged me around the corner.

"You embarrassed me." Van Eck's voice echoed through the hall, cold and harsh and deadly calm. "You failed me in front of three hundred of the most prominent figures in all of Kerch. You proved, conclusively, to the world, that your are nothing but a moron. A fool. An idiot too soft to even read his own name."

"Father." Wylan's anguished whisper was so quiet I could barely hear it, an arrow to my heart. "Father, please, I - I tried, I swear I tried..."

"How dare you call me _Father_ ," Van Eck spat. "How dare you call yourself my son. You are no Van Eck. You are a disgrace upon this household, a blemish on our name..."

"I - Father, please - " His voice was cut off by a shriek. I had to help him.

I wriggled in Claudia's grip, but she held me back. "Anneke, _no_!"

"I have to help - "

"You can't." Her voice was softer now. "I'm so sorry, Anneke. You just can't."

"But - "

"You'll make it worse if you do." She squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry. Do you want to sit down?"

Before I could answer she gently lowered me to the floor, still keeping a firm grip on me. "It's better if you don't listen.”

"I have to listen," I replied.

"Alright."

We sat there in silence for a while; eventually, I couldn’t take it and buried my head in her shoulder so everything was muffled. I didn't know what was worse: the noise or the long periods of silence in between.

"You know," she whispered, "every day, starting from two weeks ago - when I delivered his tray, he asked about you."

" _You_ delivered - " Claudia was getting more mysterious by the minute.

She shrugged. "Like I said: I know a lot more than you do. They trusted me to keep a secret."

"But - "

"Anyways," she continued loudly, "every day, he would ask me why Anneke wasn't there. Drove me crazy near the end, but there you are. To be honest, I think he was lonely. He missed you, for sure."

"Yeah," I said, a bit conflicted on how to react to all this information, Claudia just sitting there like everything was normal and she hadn't dropped about five successive bombshells on me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up a hand, cutting me off, just as the noise suddenly intensified.

"... just get out," Van Eck snarled. "I can't stand the sight of you. Get. Out."

Light spilled into the hallway. There was a loud thump. The slam of a door, the light being cut off, footsteps marching away and, close by, a strangled sob. 

I couldn't stand it anymore. I wrenched myself out of Claudia's grip - she released me with only a weak protest - and ran to him.

He was sprawled face-down on the floor, hair spread out in all directions. His chest was heaving quickly, and his arms were spread on either side of him; he looked completely, utterly defeated.

"Wylan," I whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "Oh, Saints, Wylan, what did he do?"

He didn't reply, just gave a small groan.

I carefully lifted him up - he winced - and draped his arm over my shoulder, half-dragging him towards somewhere safer. I tried to support him, but he was heavier than I was strong and it was slow going. We would have to hide, soon, if I didn't want to get caught.

Without a word, Claudia appeared on the other side of me and took his other arm. "Where should we go?"

"I - I lost the way," I admitted. "I was searching for him and didn't think to look..."

She nodded silently - with no judgement, for which I was grateful - and started steering. I followed slowly, Wylan staring dazedly ahead.

After only two minutes or so, she stopped and guided us down a hidden staircase into a small room lined with a few couches, sitting Wylan down on one of them.

"Where are we?"

"Visitor's lounge," she replied. "Not in use right now, because, you know... they saw the master. No one wants to linger."

I gave her a quick hug. "Thank you."

She smiled. "Of course. Any time." She slipped out. "I'll be back with... supplies."

I sat down next to Wylan, who was slowly looking more coherent. His nose was bleeding and there was a large lump on his head, but otherwise there was nothing on him outwardly.

"...not always like this," he mumbled.

"Wylan?"

He sat up, coughed, and tried again. "My - my father. You have to understand... he's not always like this."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not always like... like this. Angry. Just - just when I try to read, or when I embarrass him in front of people..." He sniffed. "But - normally he doesn't do this. You - you have to understand."

"Are you defending him?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." He shook his head. "He'll calm down in the morning, is what I'm saying. It's not normally this bad."

"Wylan..."

"But I'll have to leave." He flopped back down.

"Leave?"

He looked at me like I was the one suffering a potential concussion. "Depart. Say my farewells. Run away."

"When?" My head was spinning.

"Tonight."

 _So soon_. Too soon. "Are you sure?"

"I can't take one more night like this," he said. 

He couldn’t. Not in this state. Not without supplies, without a plan… without me being ready for him being gone. He couldn’t just leave. But he had to.

"Alright," I said reluctantly. "But… will you be okay on your own? How are you doing?"

"Well." He gave a small snort and started counting on his fingers. "You know, badly. That's kind of why I have to run away. I just memorized a ten-minute speech only to fail in front of hundreds of people, my father hates me, my head feels like it's filled with cotton balls, only more painful, and I'm about to leave my childhood home for the streets of Ketterdam. Otherwise? Grand. Just grand... Anneke?" He stopped and peered at me. "It is you, right?"

"It's me," I confirmed. "Claudia will be back with bandages and things soon."

"That's good, then," he mumbled, falling back on the couch.

"I missed you," he added, sitting back up again. "For two weeks it was just me, my tutors and my father."

It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. "Oh. Yeah. I missed you, too."

"And I will miss you," he continued. "When I'm gone."

I nodded, still trying to cope with everything going on: Claudia and her secrets. His father's rage. And now the threat of Wylan's leaving forever.

"I'll send postcards," I said.

He grinned slightly. "I'd promise to write, but you know... I’m not very good at it."

"And I couldn't read your letters, anyways."

"Here," he said, propping himself up on his elbows. "Speaking of letters. I - I want to show you something. Is there pen and paper anywhere?"

I scanned the room, pulling a few drawers open. "Found some." I brought a sheet and a pen over to him.

He took them and started scratching symbols on them, that I couldn't quite understand: a shape like the cross-section of a roof-beam, rotated a little. Two small upside-down curves, like frowns, with a small line coming out on the left. A half-circle with a fishhook hanging down. A shape like a stickman with his arm up and leg outstretched, and another half circle with a hook.

"What is it?" I said once he had finished.

He smiled. "It's your name. Anneke."

So this was what it looked like. I took the paper and stared at it briefly. 

"To be honest?" I said. "It just looks like a bunch of lines to me."

He looked at me, and I hoped I hadn't offended him. I backed away slowly, hoping I hadn't hurt him more than he already was.

"Me, too," he said.

There was a small silence, and then we both started giggling so hard we couldn't stop, falling over onto the cushions.

After a solid minute, we calmed down; he sat up, folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. "For you."

"Thank you," I said, my eyes tearing up suddenly. "For everything."

"And thank you," he replied. "Also for everything."

"I'll miss you."

"I will, too." He leaned over and hugged me; gently, I hugged him back, trying not to squeeze him too hard for fear of hurting him. This might be the last time I would ever do this, and I tried to convey everything in the one gesture: the sorrow, the loss, all, the unsaid things between us, everything we had done for each other over the past month - 

The door slammed open and we both jumped apart.

"Sorry to interrupt your sad farewell," Claudia said. "I brought bandages and ointment. Also clothes."

Wylan nodded, still looking dazed from the sudden interruption. "Thank you. I think that should be good." He took the bag Claudia offered, setting each thing in deliberately. 

And that's when it hit me. He was really going. In all probability, I would never see him after tonight. No more flute music, no more talking, no more trays. No more Wylan. I had failed to protect him, and now he was going out all alone.

But there was nothing I could do. "Do you want us to leave so you can change?"

"Yeah. I think so."

Claudia took my hand and led me out. As soon as we were in the stairway, my eyes teared up and I started to cry silently, my hands over my face.

"Shh," Claudia whispered, patting me awkwardly on the shoulder. "It's going to be alright..."

"I know," I sniffled. "But - but he's leaving - and it's all so soon - and - "

"Still," she said, "there's one last thing we have to do. You know what's in the kitchen?"

"What?" I wiped my eyes.

She grinned. "Hot chocolate."

I sniffed again, smiling a little through my tears. "Sounds like a plan."

In addition to the chocolate, we also took bread, a hunk of sausage, some cheese and a bottle full of water.

"And money," Claudia whispered, taking some guiltily out of her pocket.

"Whose?" I said warily.

"His tutor's. Specifically the one who suggested 'iron discipline' and regular beatings to drive out the demon inside of him."

My mouth fell open. "You're brilliant."

"I know," she said with a bit of a smirk. "Like I said: I know a lot of things that you don't. Shall we get back?"

He was waiting for us, one foot already outside the window. "Well, I guess this is goodbye, then."

Claudia nodded. "Good luck, merchling." She smirked. "I think I'll leave you two alone to say your farewells." She left, shutting the door behind her.

After a bit of an awkward silence, I stepped forwards. "Well - er - bye."

Before I could say anything else, he slipped back in the room - I noticed he was wearing street clothes, a little worse for the wear, the things we brought for him in a small bag - rushed towards me, and hugged me. "Thank you. So much."

"Ooph," I choked after a while. "You - my ribs - I can't breathe - "

He laughed and relaxed his grip a little bit. "I'll miss you, Anneke."

"I'll miss you, too.” I ran my hand along my eyes. “Stay safe."

"I will."

"And healthy."

"I will."

"And warm.

"I will."

"And don't let knuckleheads like your father get you down."

"I'll do my best."

I brushed a tear off my cheek. "And come back when you're old and wise, okay? And don't forget me."

"I would never forget you," he said.

I squeezed him a little harder. "You better not."

"I love you, Anneke," he said softly.

"I love you too, Wylan."

"Platonically."

"Platonically," I confirmed, my heart twinging a little.

"Because I think I might like men."

"You - er - um, that's nice."

He laughed. "And, on that note..."

"Yeah," I said. 

We stood there in silence as I tried to memorize everything about him: his arms around my back, the brush of his hair over my cheek, his shoulder digging into my chin, his smell of ink and new paper and something else just Wylan. I had maybe ten seconds left, and I tried to make the most of them, cursing myself for not doing this earlier, when we still had time.

"Goodbye," he whispered eventually, his eyes shiny.

"Good luck." A slow tear slipped down my cheek.

He let go of me, mock-saluted and clambered out the window into the gardens below. Shooting me one last glance, he turned and slowly walked away down the path and out of the gate.

I watched his form slowly disappear into the night, running my fingers along the paper in my pocket. _May it go well with you, Wylan. I wish you the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone wants to ship Claudia and Anneke, you now have my official permission to do so


	8. Chapter 8

His room was depressingly empty. And it smelled like him.

I was restless. I hadn't been able to sleep, tossing and turning for hours, trying to drown out Claudia's snores next to me. Eventually I had gotten up and wandered around for a while, hoping to tire myself out; without even realising it, my feet had taken me up the familiar path to his room. And now I was standing in the middle of the floor, feeling a little lost.

Lost was how I'd been feeling for the last month, actually. The official story was that Wylan was off to a health centre in Novyi Zem to recover from a supposed illness; discussion of him was forbidden. Van Eck's anger had been terrible when he discovered Wylan missing; within a day, the story was out, we were never to mention him again and Van Eck was spending much more time shut up in his room. 

I flopped down into a chair, resting my chin on my hands and my elbows on my knees. The moon was out again, bright and full, casting its light over the dusty furniture. A month and a half ago, I had been sitting not 10 metres from here, with a mug of hot chocolate, listening as Wylan told me his worst fear...

I shouldn't think about it. It was too painful. I remembered the first time I set foot in the room, terrified of doing something wrong, so disappointed that mercher's kids were just normal humans and not made out of spun gold like I thought... it felt like years ago. And then he had turned out to not only be human, but kind and smart and, as it happened, my favorite human on the planet -

I stopped thinking about that, too.

The chair smelled like him; it was soft, thick and padded, bliss for my tired back. I leaned back and a flash of silver caught my eye.

His flute. He had forgotten his flute. Its sliver keys gleamed quietly, catching the moonlight. If I concentrated, I could still distantly hear the sweet, airy melody he had played so long ago. I closed my eyes, trying to catch the notes, straining, listening... 

I jolted awake. The moonlight had shifted a metre or so. It was reflecting off a small mirror to the side, but I was fairly sure that wasn't what had woken me. I sat up straighter, listening.

That's when I heard it. A soft  _ click _ , coming from outside the window.

Cautiously I stood up, peering out. There was a small shadow, moving slowly up the wall. 

_ Wylan _ , I thought, but I squashed the hope quickly; he was taller than that, and I was pretty sure he hadn't acquired those climbing skills in the just under a month since I saw him.

The figure was coming rapidly closer; they were definitely headed for my window. I searched around for the first weapon I could find; the flute was handy, and I snatched it and dove behind a chair. My heartbeat was so loud in my ears it drowned out all sound for a few seconds.

My legs were getting sore from crouching. When would they come?

_ There _ . The window slid open gently; peeking around the edge of the armchair, I could see the small shadow slip inside. I gripped the flute a bit more tightly. What if they were armed? What did they want here?

The figure scanned the room quickly, muttering to themselves. They turned towards the desk and started riffling through the papers there, always scanning the room so that I didn't dare emerge. Eventually, they seemed to find one they thought was helpful, picked it up and began skimming it. Their back was turned. This was my chance. 

I took a deep breath, grabbed the flute around the base - sorry, Wylan - and leaped out, bringing it down on their head - 

\- before I could even react, they had hooked my ankle under me, bringing me to the floor, pinned my shoulders and were on top of me with a knife held to my throat. 

"Not a sound," the figure whispered. A female voice. Their hood slipped off and I made out a girl's face, a bit older than me, dark hair pulled back in a knot and with deep bronze skin. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration.

"Don't - " I whimpered, the cold steel pressing into my neck. "Who - please - "

She recoiled a little bit at the sound of my voice; her grip on me loosened and I tried to stretch my neck away from the blade. She rummaged in her pocket for a little while - I prayed it wasn't another knife, or something yet worse - and pulled out a small, green-glowing sphere. I closed my eyes, preparing for the sting of whatever was in there.

But she didn't drop anything onto me. It was a sort of lamp, that was all; she held it up to my face for light, peering at me. "Who  _ are  _ you?"

"My name's Anneke," I croaked, not sure if her 'not a sound' from earlier still counted. I wasn't taking any chances.

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen. Or so." I didn't know exactly when I was born - they estimated I was four when I came to them, and treated me like that, but I never learned my actual birthday.

"And what exactly are you doing here?" Her tone was more curious than hostile, but I could still feel the pinch of the knife at my throat.

_ I couldn't sleep and I miss my best friend and I was worried about him and I just wanted to come back to where it all started and pray for his safety... _ "I - er - I - well - what are  _ you _ doing here? I'm not the one climbing two stories in the middle of the night here - what's it to you?"

I regretted my outburst immediately. She could kill me in two seconds without anyone being the wiser, my blood draining out onto the carpet, no one discovering me until someone came in to clean... "Also, um, there's probably money somewhere, if that's what you came for."

She laughed. "Oh. And no." She cleared her throat and got off of me, sitting down cross-legged on the carpet. "Since you're here, let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Business?" I was still sprawled on the carpet.

"Information." She pulled out a small bag from her sleeve. “May as well introduce myself. Inej Ghafa, otherwise known as the Wraith, Kaz Brekker’s right hand and best spider. We - that is, the Dregs - are prepared to offer  _ kruge  _ to anyone with information on the origins of Wylan Van Eck.”

I sat bolt upright. “Wylan? You know about him?”

She gave me a shrewd look. "And so do you, by the sound of it."

"I'm just a serving girl," I lied. "They don't tell me anything."

"Of course they don't," she said, fingering her knife lazily.

"You don't believe me?"

"Generally, lowly serving girls who supposedly don't know anything aren't prone to hanging around in their master's empty rooms late at night." She gave me a piercing stare. "And you can sit up. I'm not going to stab you."

I got back up slowly, still watching her warily. The flute was so close...

"Try to attack me again," she added, "and I may stab you."

So much for that plan. "What do you want?"

"Like I said. Information." Her mouth curved up into a small smile. "Which you seem to have, I would guess."

"I said, I'm just a serving - "

"And I said, I don't believe you."

The knife gleamed in the moonlight. "What - why do you want to know?"

She sighed and settled down further into the carpet, leaning back on her hands. "May as well tell you the whole story."

I leaned forwards, eager for information.

She laughed. "There we go. Now, about a month ago, a boy showed up in our part of Ketterdam. Did demo work, wanted a job with the Dregs. Definitely inexperienced on the streets, and Kaz thought there was something fishy about him - "

"Kaz?"

"You know. Kaz Brekker. Otherwise know as Dirtyhands? Runs the Crow Club? Per Haskell's best man and Ketterdam's most notorious criminal?"

"Never heard of him."

She looked at me strangely. "You really don't get out much, do you? Anyways. Kaz wanted to investigate - long story short, it didn't take too long to figure out who he really was. And the poor kid's kind of like a lost puppy, you know? Obviously didn't know what he was doing."

Wylan had never seemed all that much like a lost puppy to me, but I let her continue.

"So Kaz thought he might be useful for later, just in case. Don't worry - your merchling's under Dregs protection now." She flicked her arm, and a second dagger appeared in her hand faster than I could blink. "He's not getting mugged in an alleyway anytime soon, not on my watch. And now we want to know more."

"Why?"

She gave me her sweetest smile. "To protect him, of course."

"I don't believe you."

"His father's terribly worried about him, you know."

I couldn't restrain my snort. "Now I believe you even less."

"So you do know something."

I cursed softly under my breath. She was right, and I was stupid. The girl smirked, clearly noticing my discomfort.

"Look," I began, "I don't know who you are - "

"Inej Ghafa. Pleased to meet you."

"- or what you want -"

"To know why he ran away. That's all, I swear."

"Why he ran away?" I stopped in the middle of my rant.

"Yes."

"Oh." I could deal with that. Come up with some story, pray that she believed it and didn't stab me and run. "That's it?"

She leaned forwards slightly, a faint smile on her lips. "That's it."

"Oh," I said again. "Well..." 

It was a little disorienting how quickly her attitude changed. She used to be a bit hostile, slightly snarky; now she was all compassionate and eager, a sympathetic listening ear for all. 

I took a deep breath. "You were right. I - I am just a serving girl, but I was the one who brought him the trays. We started talking... he was my best friend."

"Thought so."

"But then..." I bit my lip, trying to look suitably theatrical. "Well, he did have a lot of tutors - his old sketching tutor left, and they had to bring in a new one. She was young and pretty..."

This part would be harder. "And... well... he started ignoring me. We talked less, and I said so - I mean - well, he was rich, it wasn't like he was going to notice me anyways-" My cheeks were flushed; the girl looked highly amused. It wasn't like I hadn't noticed Wylan like that before, but this was blowing it rather out of proportion. 

"- and - um - one day I came to deliver his dinner - and - uh, well, they were..." I gestured. "You know."

The girl snorted. 

It was a ridiculous story, one Wylan would probably hate, but I wanted to keep the girl as far away from the actual truth as possible. "I - I had to tell his father. She was dismissed, and I guess he was furious... one day he just left. Without a word." I sniffled a little for effect. "And I guess I just came up here for the memories..."

"Well, then," the girl said with a grin.

I grinned sheepishly. "Strange, I know."

"It must be hard," she said, still trying to restrain her smile. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Good riddance," I muttered. 

She snorted. "If you say so."

She didn't know I was talking about her. "So... um... do you stab me now? Or..."

"No. Thank you for your... help." She laughed again. "I propose a deal."

"A deal?"

"You don't tell anyone about this little visit here - and I'll know if you do, trust me. In return, I'll find your merchling and tell him... what?"

I thought carefully. It couldn't be too revealing, and it couldn't be anything about me; I was fairly sure the girl didn't want Wylan knowing about her visit, and wouldn't tell him anything that could be traced to me. 

"Tell him to look out for himself," I told her. "And also that if he ever comes home to his father - " of course, the girl wouldn't know what it really meant - "I'll stab him myself."

She saluted. "Will do." The knives disappeared back up her sleeves; she slid the window back open and started crawling out. "See you around."

"See you..." I muttered.

The window slid closed with a _thunk_ and I watched as her small shadow crept slowly down the wall again.

Idiot.

At least I knew Wylan was doing all right now. Or at least managing. I pictured his expression if he ever learned the story I had told about him.

"Why're you grinning like that?" Claudia asked sleepily the next morning.

"Funny dream," I told her.

Technically, it wasn't a lie.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is long it is sad it is slightly boring
> 
> my apologies
> 
> (also sorry for not posting sooner, I wanted to take a break and just kind of slowed down - I've had a lot of online schoolwork lately and was pretty busy in general)

"Girl."

I ignored the voice and brought the knife down on the endless heap of cabbage in front of me. 

"Girl! Are you deaf?"

There were about ten other girls in the kitchen. If the person wanted something, they would have to say who they meant.

"You! Girl! Over by the cabbage!"

Damn. Reluctantly, I put the knife down and turned around, brushing a stray bit of cabbage off my apron. "Yes, sir?"

It was a strange man, well-dressed but still in servant attire - a butler, possibly. "You're to serve the master his tea."

"Me? Why?" I was one of the lowest-ranking servants, had no training at all and as far as I had known Jan Van Eck wasn't aware of my existence. Not to mention I was in a dirty apron with cabbage stains on it that would probably give someone as rich as that a heart attack to see.

He shrugged, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. "He specifically asked for you. Orders are orders."

I glanced down at my dirty apron, smoothing it self-consciously. "Should I…”

"Yes. Change. Quickly." He nodded quickly to Rieke and turned, giving me a curious glance before he left.

By now, everyone was staring at me; I blushed and headed over to her, still unsure of what to do.

Rieke looked confused as well. "I - I suppose we should get you changed." She gestured to a small door to the back. "The upstairs uniforms are over there. Get dressed quickly and come back."

Inside was nothing but a large closet, full of the uniforms Claudia and I had worn at the ball, so long ago. _Three months,_ I realised with a pang. Three months since I had seen him. A quarter of a year. It felt too long.

The red silk was cool and slippery on my arms, a strange contrast to the rough wool I normally wore. It stood out awkwardly among the noise and damp of the kitchen - or maybe I was just used to normal, lower-class clothes by now. The apron was bright white and ruffled, not very practical for scrubbing floors. It had been months since I delivered a tray anywhere. Maybe I had forgotten what rich upstairs people lived like when they had servants to do all the rough work for them.

Or maybe Claudia's endless yammering about class differences was getting to me. I gave myself a little shake and headed over to Rieke for directions.

Of course there was another tray, though mercifully not as heavy as Wylan's. "Good, you're ready. Now remember: chin up, eyes down, _don't speak_. You're untrained, so don't worry about who to pour tea to, there's no time, just try not to spill. Ghezen, why he had to pick _you_ , of all people..."

I nodded. "Sorry, ma'am - I don't know where he is - "

"Up the same stairs to where you used to deliver the trays, except go right instead. Second door - all big and fancy, curly twisted doorknob, you can't miss it. Go!" She gave me a little shove.

It had been a long time since I was last upstairs. Everything was the same polished perfection as usual, everything in its place, every surface gleaming, too many burnished golden frames to count. I shook my head. _Rich folk_.

My feet knew the way up to Wylan's room, and it took everything I had to steer them away and turn to the other corridor on the right. My heart was fluttering weakly. _Why me?_ What if I made a mistake, dropped something, tripped, said something I shouldn't - _which is everything, Anneke, don't say a word -_ for the Saints' sake, why? I was completely untrained, untested. There had to be a mistake somewhere. 

I knocked once on the polished white door. "Sir?"

"Come in," a voice called.

I pushed open the door with my foot. _Don't speak unless spoken to, just stay quiet and hope that nothing's happening._

It was only one person, to my relief. Red-blonde hair,a high domed forehead and the blue eyes the exact same shade as Wylan's. _Jan_ _Van Eck_. He looked up from his writing and I was surprised at the wave of hatred that flooded me.

He gave me a short sharp look, and I automatically took a step backwards. Something in those cold blue eyes was enough to make you feel like you had done something wrong just by being there. "I - sorry, sir, they said - "

"Yes," he said, a small smile crossing his face. It didn't make him look much friendlier. "Anneke, I assume? Sit down."

That was not part of the plan. Servants did not sit down with their masters - I had learned that lesson with Wylan. But the master's word was law. 

I laid the tray down carefully and perched on the edge of a chair, ready to leave at a moment's notice. "You sent for me, sir?" My accent was painfully obvious.

He nodded and relaxed slightly, taking a cup from the tray and pouring himself some tea. "And you've doubtless been wondering why."

"Yes, sir," I said cautiously.

He didn't say anything for a while, just sipped slowly at his tea, occasionally glancing down at the page on the low table in front of him. 

Eventually he looked up, his expression unreadable. "Anneke, I was wondering."

I winced. I had no idea what he wanted, but first names were definitely going too far.

He took another sip of tea. "I was wondering what you could tell me about my son."

"Sir?" Of all the reasons I had thought of, that one was one of the lowest on the list.

"My son. I believe you brought him his trays every day?" 

"I did, sir, but... I don't think I can be of much help to you. We didn't talk much - "

"Of course you didn't." His eyes were cold and hard, two pale blue stones. "But my _son_ \- " he spat the word like it was a curse "- tended to chatter more than he should to his servants, and I suspect you are no exception. So." He put down his teacup with a clatter. "Where is Wylan Van Eck?"

"In - in Novyi Zem, sir," I said, feigning confusion. "For his health?"

"Don't play the fool with me, girl," he said. Over his shoulder I noticed a small bottle with a pale amber fluid in it, half-empty. "I know you and he were friends - doubtless he must have told you some of his plans?"

I shook my head. I didn't know how long I could keep the charade up, but for Wylan's sake I had to try. "No, sir. Is he - is he not in Novyi Zem, then?"

He snorted. "Obviously not."

"Can I go, sir?" 

"Stay," he snapped. 

"Yes, sir."

“And you’re sure he never told you of his plans?”

“Yes, sir.”

He lifted his cup again, then paused and held it there. "He could not read."

"Sir?"

"He could not read. Or write. Did you know that?"

I tried to look surprised; I didn’t know if I could pull off lying to him again.

“He was illiterate. Couldn’t read a word, from a trade ledger to a children’s picture book. I tried everything. And this time… he rebelled. I intend to know the reason why.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I said with a shake of my head. “I can’t help you -”

“Really.”

“I don’t know where he is. I swear.” It was the truth; aside from ‘the streets of Ketterdam’ I had no idea where Wylan went.

He gave me a long, hostile stare. I tried to meet his gaze, but eventually dropped my head and looked down at my shoes.

“I don’t believe you, girl.”

My shoes were ragged on the edges, their dull brown contrasting the blue carpet. There was a small speck on my left toe in the shape of a dog’s head that I hadn’t noticed before.

“I don’t know if you’re simpleminded or if you’re lying, girl. But I know my son put you up to it - fool that he was -”

“He wasn’t a fool,” I said suddenly, looking up to meet his eyes.

He gave me another cold look, and I regretted my outburst immediately. He could have me fired in an instant. I had to be more careful.

“He was,” he said, slurring a little. I wondered briefly what was in his tea. “A fool, an idiot, a simpleton who couldn’t even read one sentence without getting everything wrong.”

I assumed that this wasn’t the time to tell him that I couldn’t read either. “I - I’m sorry to hear that, sir -”

“And you, girl, knew all about it! Don’t lie to me! I know what you did!”

“What I did?” _Aside from free him from your hateful grasp._

“He escaped. And not without help.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to stay,” I replied, feeling my emotions start to slip out of my control. “After you disowned him in front of everyone -”

“How did you know that?” 

I couldn’t answer him. 

“Get out,” he snarled. “Get out. I can see you’re just as bad as my son when it comes to answers. But I’ll have the truth soon, girl. You mark my words.”

I picked up the tray and turned my back on him, my cheeks flushed.

At the doorway, I stopped and turned around.

"Wylan deserved a better father than you,” I whispered. He looked up but didn’t say anything. “Someone who could actually take care of him and respect him as a human, not some machine to perform what you wanted from him.” His look became a glare, tempered with confusion. “No wonder he ran away.” I slammed the door behind me.

I raced down the stairs, my heart thumping. Undoubtedly I had just done a very stupid thing, but it was worth it. No one should talk about their son like that, and no one talked about Wylan like that and got away with it.

Maybe I was an idiot, too. But at least I was a loyal idiot.

***

Four months.

It felt like so much longer than it was, and so much shorter as well. The pain of missing him had subsided to a dull ache, helped by my daily routines and Claudia's friendship. I still thought of him every day, but not obsessively like I used to. Though it still hurt, maybe I could get used to this. By now, all I could do was pray for his safety.

Van Eck hadn't said anything after my outburst; Claudia, who heard everything, gave me a small raised eyebrow the day afterwards, but that was it. I hadn't seen him since that day, and he hadn't questioned me again; I supposed I should be grateful. The household had been busy lately, with Grisha indentures coming and going, talk of a strange new substance and odd whispers in every corner. I had no idea what it was all about, and, for once, neither did Claudia. The higher-ranking servants, those with information, kept their mouths shut.

And one day, the household seemed more subdued than normal. Word was that Van Eck had left in the dead of night, accompanied by a chest of _kruge_ (as rumor had it) and all the Grisha in the household. No one knew what it was about, but a few had reported that Van Eck had been looking oddly triumphant. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Good night, Anneke."

"Good night, Claudia."

"Weird day, huh?"

"I guess."

"Rich folk are strange creatures." She yawned. "Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams," I mumbled, sliding into the covers. Though I didn't dare to think about it, I couldn't help but hope that Wylan was involved somehow. Though his father had been so happy...

I drifted off to sleep, still wondering.

I woke up to Claudia shaking me. "Anneke. Get up."

I sat upright, sunlight streaming through the windows. How long had I been asleep? "What's happening?"

"They - I decided to let you sleep in." Claudia's face was white and frightened. "Anneke, I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry? For what?"

"Just... get dressed." She swallowed hard. "They're having the meeting in the big dining room soon. I'll see you there." She slipped out.

Five minutes later, I made my way down. The room was packed full of servants, quietly talking among themselves and all looking equally confused; I took a nervous seat next to a girl I recognised, glancing around for signs of someone who knew what was going on. It was all so sudden.

"Hello, everyone." Rieke's voice echoed through the cold room. She was standing at the head of the table, and I noticed that instead of her normal kitchen uniform, she was wearing all black. "You've doubtless been wondering why you've been gathered here..." She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I have some terrible news."

A ripple of conversation went through the hall, but quickly died down as she continued. "Last night, we received information that Wylan Van Eck was not in Novyi Zem, as suspected, but in the streets of Ketterdam, having been kidnapped by a gang known as the Dregs. His father, of course, went to investigate, but the gang smuggled him onto a ship and sailed out to sea. Jan Van Eck's Grisha did all they could, but... there was a struggle..." She stood, head bowed; everyone was silent, straining to hear.

She took another deep breath, her voice slightly congested. "Wylan Van Eck was killed in a shipwreck last night."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, but when they did, they hit me like a ton of bricks. Like someone had punched me in the gut. The whispers in the hall slowly built to a dull roar in my ears as everyone broke out chattering to each other. I sat frozen to my seat, only vaguely aware of the commotion. 

Dead. It couldn't be, he had said he'd stay safe, do his best. He had _promised._ But Rieke seemed to know what she was talking about. But he couldn't, he just couldn't be dead, what would I do without him? But they wouldn't lie to us. But Van Eck wouldn't try to rescue his son, he didn't care about Wylan, so it had to be a lie...

And a small realisation rose up in me, putting a lump in my throat. _But Van Eck had seemed so triumphant last night..._

Everyone was so loud, too loud, drowning out the protests in my head. So much noise. So much talking. “No. You - you can’t.” How could they talk, when Wylan was dead? How could they start leaving to their own jobs? Like nothing had happened, like the whole world wasn't splitting apart, twisting against itself, breaking everything down. “No - no, please…” It was a soft animal whine, one I didn’t recognize.

It wasn't true, it couldn't be true, please, please, let it not be true...

"Claudia?" I whispered.

Claudia wasn't there. Claudia would know, she would tell us all that it was just a lie. Because it had to be a lie. That was the only way possible, the only thing keeping my heart from shattering.

But - Van Eck’s face. Full of happiness, satisfaction even. Rieke, with her shaky voice. Claudia, stunned into silence like everyone else.

Maybe it was my fault. I should have held him back, made him let me treat his wounds first, done more, prayed harder. And now…

It couldn’t be. I couldn’t take it, couldn’t think about him being… _that_. But he was. Somehow.

My eyes were stinging. Why were they leaving? They didn't understand, didn't even know him, never even talked to him, never saw the real Wylan, never heard him play -

His flute, I realised. He never took his flute. And now he would never play it again.

It was too much. I slumped over, face buried in my hands, a sob tearing at my throat, ignoring the throng of people around me, the world fading.

"Anneke."

I ignored the voice next to me. I just wanted to be left alone.

"Anneke, please. You have to pretend..."

I kept ignoring whoever it was. The room was long empty by now; the cold chair bit into my thighs, my elbows leaving marks on my knees. I didn't know how long it had been, but my eyes felt sore and swollen, tears dripping through my fingers. 

"I'm so sorry, Anneke. But there's no choice. You need to keep going, or they'll suspect you."

It didn't matter. Wylan was dead. 

Someone's warm arm was suddenly around me, half-dragging me up. "I've told Rieke you're sick. She says we're all to have the day off, anyways, that it's been a shock, but if you want to help, you can help."

The someone was gently leading me down the stairs; I stumbled along next to them. One evening, so long ago, I had been doing this with Wylan, on the night where it had all gone wrong...

The thought brought a fresh round of tears. Claudia - I hoped it was Claudia - patted me awkwardly on the shoulder, still dragging me along. "I know. I'm sorry. It hurts, doesn't it."

I was lowered onto a bed that I hoped was mine. "Should I stay, or do you want to be alone?"

I waved a hand at her. Let her interpret that how she liked. I didn’t care.

She hesitated for a bit, then I heard her footsteps fade and the door gently closing behind her.

I regretted it almost immediately. The room was so cold. Everything was so cold. I had run out of tears, lying exhausted on the mattress.

He was gone, and I had failed.

“Wylan,” I whispered.

There was no answer.


	10. Chapter 10

The night was cold, and Jesper was restless.

"I told you this was a stupid idea," he grumbled.

"We'll be fine. And since when has something being a stupid idea ever held you back?" The boy tugged on the knot once more to see that it held. 

"Shut up." Jesper grabbed the rope hanging from the balcony and began hoisting himself up. "Remind me why you wanted to come back here again?"

"Unfinished business." The reply was tight and cold; clearly, Jesper wasn't going to get any more information tonight.

He grabbed the edge of the balcony, swung himself up and hauled up the rope behind him, the other boy scrambling up after him. The window slid open easily. "Top-tier security, right here."

"It should have been locked."

Jesper shrugged. "Better luck for us." He shoved his head through the window. "No guards, right?"

"Not that I know of."

The room was dark and neatly organised, a thin layer of dust over everything; it appeared to be empty. Jesper squirmed through and landed softly on the floor; he heard a soft thump behind him as the other boy landed.

He scanned the room and was about to close the window, when there was a soft scream behind him.

Jesper whipped around. A small figure was standing there, partly hidden behind a chair, her arms trembling.

The girl lifted something above her head. "Inej?"

Before Jesper could react, there was a flash of metal and a sharp blow to his head, and everything went black.

Slowly he forced his eyes open. He was still standing, slumped against the wall, and the world was spinning slightly. Through the pain he could hear a voice, high-pitched, frightened.

Familiar. The voice was familiar. He had to help...

"...put it down! No - not like that - okay, gently - no! Please! You have to - "

Jesper slowly turned around, blinking out the stars that swarmed his vision. The girl - he thought it was a girl - was still holding the metal thing up, staring at the boy in disbelief.

"- no - put it down - slowly! Here - " The boy slipped a knife out from his sleeve and handed it to the girl. Jesper blinked; he had to be kidding. 

"Yes! Take this!” The girl reached her hand out for it, looking very suspicious. “Threaten us with the knife! But just put it down, get it into its case, you're going to dent it!"

A flute. The girl had hit him with a flute.

"- don't you care about instruments? You'll dent the head, or bend it - you could break a key!" The voice grew even shriller. "Just unscrew it - slowly - yes, the case should be on the desk -”

"Have you gone _mad_?" Jesper fought his way up, ignoring the pain swimming in his head.

The boy glanced around, one hand still on the flute, his slanted amber eyes glinting stubbornly. "That thing was a fifty-thousand kruge original silver-plated - "

"You gave her a _knife?"_

"No one treats a flute like that and gets away with it -"

“What the hell is going on here?”

They both turned around, and Jesper got a good look at the girl: she looked about a year or so younger than him, one hand on her hip and the other brandishing the knife. There was a faint Kaelish lilt to her voice. 

The girl sniffled, and on closer inspection Jesper could see red rims around her eyes. "What - what are you doing? What do you want?"

The boy looked up suddenly from the flute case on the ground, looking stunned. "Anneke?"

She jumped. "How do you know my name?" 

"Of course," the boy mumbled, running a hand over his face. "This is going to sound crazy, isn't it."

"What is?"

"Anneke, I know this sounds crazy, but it's me. Wylan."

There was silence for a while.

"No," the girl said in a brittle voice, running a hand over her eyes. "You're not."

"I know it looks like that. But a Grisha tailored me like this, I swear I didn't look like this a week ago - "

"No." The girl shook her head. "You're lying. I don't know how you did it, but you're not Wylan."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, taking a trembling breath. "Wylan Van Eck is - he's dead." Her voice broke. "Died - in a shipwreck last night - and you're trying to raise my hopes - and-" She turned away, burying her face in her hands. "Just - please - I can't take it."

"You're dead?" Jesper said, turning to Wylan. "I didn't know that."

"I didn't know that, either," Wylan said, examining his hands. "Anneke - who said I was dead?"

"Rieke," the girl mumbled through her hands. "It was a message from your - from his - father..."

"And you believed that?" Wylan blew out a disbelieving breath. "Honestly, Anneke..."

"Whatever," the girl said, turning away. "Who even cares. This is - this is all a crazy dream I'm having. I'm going to bed." She dropped the knife, walking slowly away from them. "Do whatever you like. I don't care anymore."

"Wylan," Jesper hissed, "what is going on - "

But Wylan had already broken away from Jesper, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Anneke - please, you have to listen - "

"Leave me alone!" the girl yelled, pushing him away. "It's - it's been hard enough, without you bursting in here..."

"I can prove it to you!"

"Wylan, this is really not a good idea - "

"Get me that book there, would you?"

Sensing that this wasn't the time to argue, Jesper picked up the slim volume on a nearby table and handed it to Wylan. "I thought you couldn't - "

Wylan nodded tightly and gave it back to him. "Here. Read." He cleared his throat. " _The most important time in a mercher's life is, without a doubt -_ "

The words didn't mean much to Jesper, but the girl whipped around, staring at them as if possessed. 

Wylan closed his eyes and carried on reciting; scanning the page, Jesper could see that it was the same, word for word, as what Wylan was saying. "Did you memorise this?"

"Nine pages of it," he said, his eyes still closed, "seven consistently. Do you want me to recite the whole thing, or do you believe me now?"

The girl was still staring at him in disbelief. "This is a dream, isn't it."

Wylan poked her, then himself. "Pretty sure not. Well, I hope so, at least."

"But... your face. You can't be him."

"It's a long story, but basically this Grisha named Nina Zenik did it -" Wylan broke off, putting an arm around Anneke's shoulder. "Look. Your name is Anneke - you never told me your last name - and you brought me my lunch trays every day for a month and a half, including the bottles that I poured in the trash for a while, and also hot chocolate that one time, where I told you about... well. You know."

"You - you remembered - "

"Anyways. You work in the kitchen, you served the champagne at the one Van Eck ball before I ran away, and your best friend is currently named Claudia, who I came here to see in the first place, with a message for you. Come on, Anneke, don't you at least know my voice? I'm Wylan, I promise."

She looked up, tears glinting in her eyes. "You swear?"

"I swear."

She hesitated for a moment, then rushed towards him and threw her arms around him. "It's - it's really you?"

"It's me," Wylan confirmed, squeezing her back. 

They stayed like that for a while, Jesper looking on awkwardly. 

Eventually it was too much, and he coughed loudly. "Er... sorry to interrupt, but Kaz wants us at the Emerald Palace in half an hour..."

"I missed you," the girl mumbled, letting go a little bit. "It's been four months..."

"Four months?" Jesper said. "Wait - Wylan - " He looked in between them suspiciously. "Is this your _girlfriend_?"

"No!" the girl said, jumping apart from him. "But - you're pretty jealous, aren't you." A light came on in her eyes. "Hang on... Wylan... is this your _boyfriend_?"

The resulting silence was slightly awkward, full of tension.

"No!" Wylan and Jesper blurted at the same time.

"I mean..." Wylan added, glancing awkwardly at Jesper.

"No," Jesper said firmly, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks. "No. We are not. Boyfriends, I mean. Yet. Anyways."

"Moving on," the girl said, looking highly amused.

“Moving on.” Wylan turned pink, shooting the girl a sheepish look.

Jesper cleared his throat loudly. "So, Wylan, who is this? Why is she here?" 

"I'm Anneke," the girl said, bobbing a short mock-curtsy. "Just another Van Eck servant. And you're Wylan's not-boyfriend, I presume?"

"Why do people - yes. Fine." Jesper ran a hand through his hair. "Jesper Fahey. Nice to meet you."

"And you're here because..."

"To accompany Wylan. Speaking of which." Jesper looked up at the grandfather clock just outside the room. "We should go. We'll be late for Pekka."

"Pekka?" the girl said, putting her hands on her hips. "Who's Pekka? Why is Jesper here? Wylan... where even were you?"

Wylan coughed nervously. "Um. Fjerda."

" _Fjerda?_ "

"Fjerda."

"Specifically, the Ice Court."

"The Ice Court."

"Specifically, as Fjerdan prisoners."

The girl put a hand to her forehead. "Should I even ask?"

"It's better if you don't."

"You did this voluntarily?"

"For the most part."

"Also he was a hostage," Jesper added. "Just in case Van Eck didn't deliver."

"Not helpful," Wylan said. "And - Anneke - could you do me a favour and, um, not tell anyone? Kaz never told us _not_ to, but..."

"I'll do my best," the girl said. "But I can't guarantee Claudia won't find out - "

"- because Claudia knows everything," Wylan finished. "Just... also tell her not to, if you can."

"Maybe she can get together with Kaz one day," Jesper interrupted. "We should go."

Wylan glanced up at the clock. "We should."

The girl's face fell. "But... will you come back? One day?"

"I'll try," Wylan said. 

She shook her head. "Saints, I still can't believe it's really you. It's been four months... they told us you were dead..." She squeezed his shoulder. "Stay safe, okay?"

"I will."

"And don't go and drown in another shipwreck."

"And don't believe my father when he tells you I'm dead again."

"And don't forget your flute this time."

"And, Anneke?"

"Yes?"

Wylan took a step back, his hands on her shoulders, looking deep into her eyes. For a moment, it looked like he was about to kiss her, and an unexpected stab of envy went through Jesper's heart.

He took a deep breath. "If you ever use my beautiful, innocent flute to hit someone again, I will come find you."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment.

"Wylan Van Eck, everyone," Jesper said, sliding open the window. "I'll give you five minutes." He clambered out and slid down the rope to the ground.

It was still a cold night, and he paced the ground below the window endlessly, counting down the time and trying not to hear the endless talking, small laughs and occasional sobs coming from above. Once or twice, the voices fell silent, and he tried not to think about what might be going on. Apparently Wylan and the girl had some history to chew on, and they should have their proper goodbye -

And why was he jealous of that? It shouldn't feel like this, this strange pressure in his gut, wincing with every time one of them laughed. He barely even knew Wylan, anyways, and of course he had had friends before Jesper, that was natural... but then why did it feel like this?

He could still hear them whispering, though it was more subdued now. Looking up, he could see the girl leaning over to hug him one last time out the window, before Wylan swung out and slithered clumsily to the ground.

"Graceful," Jesper remarked, turning off towards the Emerald Palace.

Wylan said nothing in retort, unusually. They rounded a corner and Jesper could still see him walking backwards, waving. A pale figure waved back, shrinking by the second.

"One day," Wylan said, more to himself.

"One day what?" They were out of sight now, Wylan hurrying to catch up with him.

"One day, I'm coming back. I'll see her again." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. "Hold me to that, would you?"

Jesper's heart gave a brief squeeze.

"I will," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop whoop and we're DONE! it took a long time but boy it sure was fun to write. sorry for the length and delays and ever-decreasing quality and all that. hope you enjoyed!


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